


Starter Kit

by GoodIdeaAtTheTime



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Also Clint's secret family don't exist, Bucky learns how to make friends, Crack Fic, D&D, Dungeons aren't just for kinky sex stuff, Game Night Is Fun, Get-Together Fic, Humour, I don't go here and I'm trying my best, It's before Infinity War for sure, Let's pretend Civil War went nicely and we're all friends now, M/M, Some movie-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23601382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodIdeaAtTheTime/pseuds/GoodIdeaAtTheTime
Summary: “What do you do with your friends?” Bucky asks finally, looking back at the doc.There’s a surprised pause, and Doc Adams looks like he’s thinking. Wondering how much will incriminate him, perhaps. Worrying about giving away personal information to the Winter Soldier. Bucky’s 90% sure Grant Adams is a fake name anyway, and he knows that people aren’t certain he’s been de-programmed. God forbid the infamous assassin finds out where his shrink lives.“We have monthly game nights,” the doc says. “Get together, get some drinks and snacks, maybe order pizza.”“Games?” Bucky repeats blankly. “Like what, Monopoly?” That’s a game that isn’t going to make him any friends. Doc Adams looks a little embarrassed. “What?”“Well, mostly… Tabletop gaming. Dungeons and dragons, that sort of thing.”“Dungeons and what?” Bucky stares at him. Is his therapist into kinky, BDSM sex shit with his friends? If he is, Bucky’s first instinct is to think the future is way more open-minded than he realised, and his second instinct is to move his therapist further up in his estimation. The guy’s clearly way more interesting than he’s realised.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 80
Kudos: 238





	Starter Kit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mariana_oconnor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariana_oconnor/gifts).



**Starter Kit**

The therapist's office has been designed to look non-threatening. The room has been painted Magnolia, with non-descript art on the walls that has clearly been made to order for soothing shapes and calming colours. All blues and roundness. Even the desk has rounded corners, and Bucky wonders if they ordered that specially when they heard he was coming in. He knows they know about Prague.

That’s something they say he has to work on - assuming that everything everyone around him does is because they think he’s going to kill them. But it had been a very fair assumption for a very long time, so it’s a hard habit to break.

The doc’s been okay with him, though. SHIELD, obviously, but Bucky guesses that means he’s less twitchy when it comes to dealing with… unusual cases. It’s been a couple of months since he was, uh, ‘accepted into the fold’, and while the arms had been _mostly_ open, they had also been holding conditions. Like therapy. Lots of therapy.

“How are you feeling today, Bucky?” Doc ‘call me Grant’ Adams asks, lacing his fingers together on his notebook and smiling over at him. He’s learned to call him Bucky now, after Bucky made it clear that he was never, ever James. He was only James when he was in trouble with his Ma and his Ma has been dead for longer than he’s been de-programmed, so he guesses he won’t be James again.

“I’m fine,” Bucky says, because he is. 

“You always say that,” Doc Adams chides him, because he does.

“‘Cause I’m always fine.” The baseline level for ‘fine’ for him was pretty low, admittedly, but it also covered a wide spectrum. He can go a long way on ‘fine’ before things become ‘not great’ or actively ‘bad’. Fine is alright. He can live with ‘fine’.

“I want you to be ‘good’,” Doc Adams says, “or ‘great’.”

Bucky shrugs. There’s not much to say to that.

“I’m doin’ okay.”

Doc Adams studies him in that way shrinks do, and leans back in his chair slightly. This is what he does when he’s about to pretend he’s changing subject in the hope he’ll catch Bucky off-guard.

“Have you thought any more on what we talked about last session?” he asks. Bucky doesn’t answer, just looks back at him with innocently raised eyebrows. “About finding something to do outside of missions, something for you.”

“Well, everyone in my barbershop quartet is dead…”

Doc Adams lets out a thoughtful laugh, which isn’t the reaction Bucky was expecting. 

“You and Steve have a very similar sense of humour, don’t you?” Doc Adams said. “I heard him say the same thing a couple of years ago.”

The part of Bucky that is relieved and astonished that he got out of HYDRA alive and is still a bit stunned by the whole thing and perhaps, if he’s honest, a little traumatised, that part is quite pleased the Barnes-Rogers Hivemind is apparently still active. The part of him from before the war, from Brooklyn and dates and roomies, thinks _Steve you little shit, stop stealing my jokes before I even think of them_.

“You said you used to go dancing a lot, before the war,” Doc Adams continues. 

“Dancing now ain’t the same as it was back then,” Bucky tells him. Back then it was dim rooms and dark corners for kissing, eyes across crowded rooms, lipsticks and pomade. Now dancing is way too much like a firefight for Bucky’s liking. Dark and crowded, with flashing lights and loud noises. Bodies, and shouting, and unexpected fluids spilled down you. 

“There are groups which do swing dancing. Maybe you could join one of them?”

Bucky doesn’t dignify that with a response. He’s seen the sort of people who go to those dances, and he’s got less than nothing in common with them. He can just imagine how it would go if he turned up looking the way he does now.

“How about the others on the team? Have they asked you to do anything with them?” 

Tony has, but Tony only asks about tinkering with Bucky’s arm, and they’re only just up to the ‘making polite smalltalk’ stage of friendship. Rhodes seems okay but he’s not the chattiest sort, and Bruce mostly spends his time in the lab with Tony. Thor shows up from time to time, but he’s very… Large and Loud, and sometimes just thinking about it makes Bucky tired. He gets on okay with Natasha, but Natasha has Clint, and Clint is…

Sometimes, when he’s joking around with the others, Bucky looks at Clint and there’s understanding in Clint’s eyes, and he thinks that, given half the chance, he would probably get on with Clint.

Sometimes, when they’re on missions and Clint is taking out targets one after another after another, with his arms bare, Bucky looks at Clint and he thinks that, given half the chance, he would probably _get on_ Clint.

“We mostly have a business relationship,” Bucky says. “‘Cept for Steve. And Sam, I guess, but Sam’s Steve’s friend.”

“The Avengers aren’t a business,” Doc Adams points out. Bucky raises his eyebrow, picturing all the merchandise he’s seen around the place. “They aren’t _primarily_ a business,” the doc corrects himself. “Were you friends with the Howling Commandos? Were you part of each others’ lives?”

“Sure,” Bucky says, although friends doesn’t even cover it. Brothers in arms, family, additional limbs. But they're all dead. “These guys aren’t the Commandos. ‘Cept Steve.” He say ‘cept Steve’ a lot in these sessions, and he wonders if he’s imagining the slight twitch at the corner of Doc Adams’ eye when he says it.

“But they’re your new unit,” the doc says. “You have to trust them in the way you trusted your old unit.”

“It ain’t the same - they’re not the same, I’m not the same…”

“And it doesn’t have to be exactly the same. But maybe try and open up to them. More than anyone else, these people will understand the life you’re leading and your extraordinary circumstances.” The doc smiles at him. “I’m trying my best, but ultimately I’m coming at this from a place of clinical training, not shared experience.”

Bucky grunts and looks at his boots. Looks around the room. Looks at anything but Doc Adams. Making friends as an adult was hard enough, doing it as a 90-year-old war vet with PTSD and social skills numbed by brainwashing wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. He doesn’t know where to start with normal people, and now he’s being asked to buddy up with gods and monsters, mutants and robots, and that one hyperactive kid who can climb on the ceiling. And all of it 70 years out of his experience.

“What do you do with your friends?” he asks finally, looking back at the doc. 

There’s a surprised pause, and Doc Adams looks like he’s thinking. Wondering how much will incriminate him, perhaps. Worrying about giving away personal information to the Winter Soldier. Bucky’s 90% sure Grant Adams is a fake name anyway, and he knows that people aren’t certain he’s been de-programmed. God forbid the infamous assassin finds out where his shrink lives. 

“We have monthly game nights,” the doc says. “Get together, get some drinks and snacks, maybe order pizza.”

“Games?” Bucky repeats blankly. “Like what, Monopoly?” That’s a game that isn’t going to make him any friends. Doc Adams looks a little embarrassed. “What?”

“Well, mostly… Tabletop gaming. Dungeons and dragons, that sort of thing.”

“Dungeons and what?” Bucky stares at him. Is his therapist into kinky, BDSM sex shit with his friends? If he is, Bucky’s first instinct is to think the future is way more open-minded than he realised, and his second instinct is to move his therapist further up in his estimation. The guy’s clearly way more interesting than he’s realised.

“It was invented in the 70s, so I suppose you missed it.” Doc Adams scribbles down something on his notebook, but then tears the page out and hands it to Bucky with a small smile. “Read up on it. If you’re interested, I can point you towards places where you can find games.”

Bucky’s sceptical about the idea, but he takes the paper anyway. It’s not like he’s got anything else to do with his evenings. 

*

When Steve comes back from a week away on mission with Nat and Sam, there are a number of people waiting for him in the living room. Bucky isn’t one of them.

“Problem, fellas?” he asks, surveying the crowd who are trying to look like they’re not concerned but they are concerned. Tony’s lying on the sofa, compulsively solving and un-solving a Rubix cube. Rhodey is sitting next to him, looking - well, looking like Rhodey does when Tony’s done something stupid. Bruce has stress hair, the hair he gets when he’s been doing a lot of pacing and running his hands through it. Wanda looks anxious, and Vision is hovering near Wanda, looking concerned about Wanda more than anything.

“Your pet cyborg’s been shut up in his room for the last four days,” Tony says, hands not stopping, still staring at the ceiling. “He’s ordered a near-literal tonne of packages from Amazon, and we haven’t seen him since.”

Steve shares a glance with Nat and Sam, who both shrug.

“ _I_ said it’s sex toys and he’s havin’ the time of his life in there,” Clint says, suddenly appearing round the corner, swigging from a beer, another in his hand for later. He doesn’t stop, just keeps walking back to his own room, a drive-by contribution to the intervention. “Dude was either deep-frozen or under surveillance for 70 years. Then he comes back and ends up fighting aliens and shit? Deserves a chance to get his rocks off. Hey Cap, hey Nat, hey Sam.”

Clint disappears around the next corner without a glance backwards. Steve watches him go, then looks back at the assembled crowd. Rhodey’s trying not to laugh, and Bruce has coughed into his hand and looked the other way. Wanda’s gone a little pink.

“Anyone want to offer a counter-theory?” Steve asks.

“He’s not jacking off,” Tony says, sitting up. “Well, he probably is, but no more than your average, hot-blooded, high-octane killer. I’d be more worried if he _wasn’t -_ ”

“So what’s the problem?” he raises his voice a little, trying to turn the conversation away from his best friend’s personal habits. “What does FRIDAY say?”

“He’s reading,” the computer said helpfully, chipping in to cut Tony off. “But I can't share any further information than that, for personal privacy reasons.” There's a silent 'so there' at the end of the sentence, and Steve suspects that Tony has tried to bully his AI for more information a few times.

He looks back at the crowd, exasperated. 

“He’s got a lot of reading to catch up on,” he says, “I know what it’s like!”

"Could you check on him?" Wanda asks, those stupid big eyes of hers manipulating the shit out of him. "I know he's not comfortable with the rest of us, but we have been worried…"

Sighing heavily, Steve can't believe he's agreeing to this. But he dumps his bag at his room and then trudges along to Bucky’s, knocking on the door.

“Buck? Can I came in?”

He gets an affirmative - so if Bucky’s doing what Clint thinks he’s doing, he’s clearly not doing it _now_ \- and lets himself in. 

Rooms has always been an understatement of the accommodation here, but there were no better words. They were more like studio apartments, with living areas and kitchenettes and bathrooms. It’s taken Steve a while to get used to having so much space just for him, as well as the masses of space that everyone used outside the room. He’s spent a lot of time just trying to work out where it feels most normal to sit. 

Bucky’s room has been pretty empty since he arrived. Steve’s poor-guy-soldier mentality had kept him living out of his duffle for longer than he likes to admit, although he’s (mostly) over it now. Buck’s room is even worse, it could be a hotel room for all the personal effects he has. Or rather, it was.

Now it’s full of books. Big books, hardcover, quite hefty, and bits of paper, and scrawled notes, and little cue cards with more scrawl on. Steve’s suddenly very glad Tony didn’t come in, because even Steve’s a little concerned. The books are all black and red tones, with creatures and shady looking people on the front. Bucky’s sat on the floor by his coffee table and there’s an explosion of paper all around him.

“Um…” says Steve, and Bucky looks up with a crooked and slightly excited grin on his face, and suddenly Steve doesn’t care what he’s doing, that’s the most like _Bucky_ that Bucky has looked in a long time. 

“Have you heard about this?” Bucky asks, waving a book at him. “It’s nuts. I love it.”

The book says _Dungeon Master’s Guide_ on it and Steve has heard of dungeon masters but he assumed they involved a lot more leather and chains, and a lot fewer post-it notes. There are dice by Bucky’s elbow, in a little tray, and he guesses he’s got his wires crossed. So he gets himself comfy on the sofa, and just says, 

“Tell me about it.” 

It’s so soothing to see Buck so animated, as he explains this game, pulling out different books and waving them at Steve. Their relationship has been pretty solid, and Bucky has been happy to spend time with him, but he hasn’t seemed like his old self, and he only really spends time with Steve, and Steve and Sam, and the others if Steve is there. He’s been pretty insular, and struggling to find where he fits. Steve gets that, boy does Steve get that. But it’s weird for him when Bucky was the gregarious one, the people-person, and the ideas guy. Steve was the fights guy, the troublemaker. 

“So, how do you play?”

Here, Bucky hesitates a little. “You need a group of people. Doc Adams says there are places where you can meet up with groups, so I might ask him next time I see him...” He trails off, but Steve can fill in the gaps. Meeting up with strangers would be a giant step, and it’s one Bucky’s not sure he’s ready to make yet. 

“We’ve got a group of people here,” Steve says, and Bucky gives him a very sceptical look. “Well we have.”

“I don’t think they’d be into it,” Bucky says, shuffling paper around awkwardly, and he might be right, but Steve’s going to _make them_ be into it. Steve can do a lot of things when he puts his mind to it.

“I think it’d be a great team-building exercise,” Steve tells him. “When can you get a game set up and ready to go?”

There’s a bit of excitement behind the caution in Bucky’s eyes, and Steve decides that he will damn well tie people to chairs to play this game if that’s what it takes.

*

There’s a load of bits of paper on the dining table, and Clint stops in the doorway while he tries to work out if someone is going to make him do _admin_. Bucky’s sat at the far end, with this screen propped up in front of him that looks like it’s made out of cardboard, and he’s looking a bit surly. The surly look isn’t reassuring in this instance, even if it is quite appealing to behold usually. 

“Barton, you’re blocking the door,” Nat says, and pushes him into the room, like a cork out of a bottle as the rest of the currently-present team flood in behind him, shepherded at the back by Steve. Steve, who called a team meeting. Steve who has rounded them all up and brought them here. 

To do… paperwork?

“Oh hey,” Bruce says, moving over to the table and his little face lighting up in that understated way he has, with his shoulders hunched in like if he makes himself as small as possible as Bruce then maybe he won’t be so massive as Hulk. “D&D! I haven’t played this since college.”

“And I’m out,” Tony says, turning to leave and finding only the solid wall of Steve’s chest barring his way to freedom. “Oh come on, you can’t be _serious_?”

“I asked Bucky to put this together for us,” Steve tells them all, as people start to wander towards the table and curiously poke at bits of paper - ready-made characters, with blank names. “It’s fun, and it’s going to be a great bit of team-building.”

“If you want a team built, I can _literally_ build you one,” Tony protests, as Steve turns him around and steers him towards a seat. “But not if I’m battling imaginary ogres.”

“I’m with Tony,” Sam says, looking suspiciously at the table. “I don’t think this is my scene.”

“You’re doing it,” Steve says firmly.

Clint glances at Bucky and realises that this particular flavour of surly is ‘nervous and slightly embarrassed’ and that’s not fair on Bucky, so he grabs a character and sits next to Bucky. 

“I’m an… elf bard,” he says cheerfully. “Sweet.”

Steve looks pleadingly at Sam, and Nat, and Sam relents, shuffling through the papers and grabbing a random one.

“Fine,” Sam declares. “I’m a wizard. Samdalf the Wizard.”

Steve sits across the table from Clint, at Bucky’s other side, there’s a sheet of paper already there, and Clint knows Steve has made his character to spec. Bruce has grabbed another sheet and is looking very pleased as he slides into the chair beside Steve.

“I’ll have to dig out my old stuff,” he says.

Nat is a human druid, and so, apparently, is Vision. Thor finds a dwarf barbarian and is delighted, while Wanda decides she’s going to be a half-elf ranger. Rhodes grabs two character sheets and shoves one at Tony.

“I’m a paladin,” Rhodes says. “So’s Tony.”

“What’s a paladin?” Wanda asks.

“A holy warrior,” Thor booms, “on a mission from their god to defeat evil and right wrongs.”

“I guess Steve’s a paladin too,” Clint says, and Steve does that smile he sometimes does that catches Clint by surprise because he forgets sometimes that Cap has a sense of humour.

“I’m a rogue,” Steve says. “A dashing rogue.”

Bruce looks around the table and down at his sheet with a frown then sighs and tosses it aside to grab another one.

“I’ll be a cleric then,” Bruce says, with some resignation, “because if ever any party was going to keep blowing themselves up and need healing…”

Bucky passes out some bags of dice from behind his screen and avoids making eye contact as he does so. When Steve prompts him, he begins to explain how the game works. He starts talking to the tabletop, but as he goes on and people start to ask questions, he perks up. There’s a spark in his eyes and a smile on his face, and he looks far more open than Clint has ever seen him. Clint can see why Steve is making them do this now, and Clint is 100% behind it. 

It’s not like he’s really spoken to Bucky much, but he has been Very Aware of him since he moved into the tower. He’d heard stories of the Winter Soldier through his whole career, and frankly he’s been a bit of a Weird Crush in the way that everyone has that one Weird Crush, like the cartoon Robin Hood or the guy from the Old Spice ads. It’s totally normal.

Of course then the Winter Soldier turns out to be completely _jacked_ and have that jawline, and those cheekbones, and those eyes. And he’s Bucky Barnes, arguably the hottest of the Howling Commandos - not that Clint’s rated them, except of course he has, because what else would you do? - and renowned ladykiller. That was information that confused the hell out of Clint’s sex drive for about an hour, before it was like, ‘no, actually, I’m into this’. So, okay, he’s less of a ladykiller now and more of a dark, intense, smouldering type, but Clint can definitely get behind that.

This is something new though, and it’s unexpected and weirdly hot. Bucky is looking innocent and excited, and not at all tortured and dark, and Clint doesn’t want to just ride him into oblivion, he wants to shelter him from all the evils of the world and make him happy. This is unexpectedly emotional for the setting and Clint needs more beer. He’s not made for fucking wholesome shit. 

“Pizza?” he suggests, standing up and pulling his phone out. “Pizza,” he confirms, as everyone nods, and if he disappears for slightly longer than necessary and comes back with beer, then no-one’s complaining.

*

“Thor, you’re a small being, so you can only run 25 feet.”

“No I’m not, dwarves are mighty beings!”

“No, dude, I’m looking in here, they max out at 5 feet tall.”

“You’re wrong, Eitri the Dwarf King, who forged Mjolnir, is a mighty warrior who stands greater than even I!”

Bucky sighs and runs his hands through his hair and pauses with his fingers clasped on the back of his head. He shares a look with Steve, wondering how to even argue with that.

“These aren’t real dwarves,” Bruce says patiently, “you have to pretend.”

“Hey!” Tony says suddenly, “I didn’t realise I was a _hobbit_.”

“Halfling,” Sam corrects. “Copyright.”

“Don’t worry,” Rhodey says, “I’m 6 feet. I can just throw you at anything you need to attack.”

“I hate this game,” Tony says. 

*

The first session goes surprisingly well, and actually the others don’t argue too much when Steve suggests they do it again next month. Bucky sits and busies himself with tidying his papers and cards, feeling a bit giddy with relief. He’d been very nervous, and he’d nearly called it off right up until everyone walked in the room - how did he let Steve talk him into these things? He always ends up following Steve into his bad ideas. But… it went okay, and it feels like the others didn’t actively hate doing it. 

Bruce was super into it, and he’s still talking to Tony about all the dice sets he has in storage, and Tony looks like he wants to throw himself down the stairs as he scurries out of the room.

He’s folding up his makeshift screen - he cobbled it together from an old box and glued copies of all the stats and info he needed onto it - when he realises that he’s not alone, and that Clint has hung back in the doorway while all the others have dispersed. He looks like he doesn’t want to leave quite yet, and Clint realises he’s been noticed, he grins that crooked grin that Bucky likes so much.

“That was a lot of fun,” Clint says, tapping his knuckles with his rolled-up character sheet, then using it to gesture at the table like a sword. “How’d you get into all this?”

“My therapist,” Bucky says, with a small huff of laughter. “Although, when he first told me about it I thought it was some kind of sex thing.”

“And you still looked into it?” Clint asks, with a raised eyebrow and an expression that looks like he’s considering something, and it’s something he’s kind of into.

“Well.” Bucky can’t help the smirk he gives Clint then. “Can’t knock somethin’ til you’ve tried it.”

Clint almost looks like he wants to ask what _else_ Bucky fancies trying, and Bucky’s a little startled - he must be imagining that, right? - before Nat calls for him to come eat the last bit of pizza. He clears his throat and gives Bucky one, last, considering look, before shuffling out of the room. 

Bucky has to sit down again for a minute.

*

Session two is the session Clint learns that Bucky can do _accents_ . He can do accents _really well_ , and Clint, in what is apparently now ‘his’ chair next to him, just has to sit there and listen as Bucky rattles off a flawless Scottish accent, and then a Texan one, and then a German one… Listening to the NPCs talk is like getting an impromptu world tour, and Clint is trying to pretend that he’s a normal human being and not just currently getting aural sex from a man talking about goblins in a perfect Irish brogue.

He realises he’s missed what’s going on when everyone starts rolling and leans across to Steve, who is scribbling furiously in his notebook, like a swot.

“What are we rolling for?”

Steve looks up and looks guilty, then glances up and down the table. “Uh,” he says.

“Aren’t you taking notes?” Clint hisses.

“I -”

“He’s drawing pictures,” Nat tells him, and manages to swipe the notebook before Steve can cover it, showing it to Clint. It’s an incredible pencil sketch of a man who looks not unlike the Dread Pirate Roberts, dressed all in black, with piratey boots, a pencil moustache and a rapier held out for duelling. He has puffy sleeves, a cape, and a hat with a massive feather.

“Is that… Is that Bertrand?” Clint asks. He’s blown away by the art as much as the fact that Steve’s character looks like he fell out of an Errol Flynn movie. Bucky lets out a snort of laughter.

“Yes,” Steve says, grabbing the notebook back with as much dignity as he can muster, but Nat takes it again and passes it down the table for the others to see, as they’re craning their necks curiously. “What of it?”

“How are you so stealthy when your hat is so…” Clint trails of and circles his hands around his head, miming the giant brim of the ridiculous headgear. 

“The feather is silent,” Steve says.

“You must draw my character next!” Thor says with delight. “Troels Bjornhammer would be the perfect subject for an heroic portrait.”

“I wasn’t -”

“You should do them for everyone,” Tony suggests, and his innocent tone and expression make it very clear he’s doing this as revenge for Steve getting them all to do this - although Clint did notice he’s brought his own dice this time, a very fancy metal set, in a presentation tin.

Steve’s about to refuse, but Wanda looks up at him with an excited and delighted smile, her little face just radiating joy, and Steve sighs heavily.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, finally managing to reclaim his notebook. “I guess I can do that.”

Bucky clears his throat pointedly.

“While you were all talking instead of rolling perception, a group of goblin scouts spotted you and just opened fire on Bertrand, Samdalf and The Mighty Tron. If your armour class is lower than 15, take 4 piercing damage, and you all gotta roll initiative.”

“Goddammit…”

*

Nat’s in France during the third session, but Tony’s managed to set it up so she can call in, and a digital projection of her sits in her seat, while she sees the rest of them in her hotel room at 3:00am French Time. Clint had offered to play her character for her, but Nat had been very clear that she didn’t trust him to look after Katrina properly. So she sits, looking more glamorous at 3:00am than Clint can manage at 3:00pm, sipping holographic wine and pretending not to notice Clint flicking tiny bits of balled up paper through her nose. 

And then she turns into a giant spider.

“Wait what?!” Sam demands, offended, flicking through the player handbook. “I’m supposed to be the wizard! Why can’t _I_ turn into a spider?”

“Druids get wild shape at second level,” Bruce explains. His vast collection of dice has appeared from wherever he had packed it away, and it is a little unsettling to see the giant sack of plastic by his elbow. “Vision can do it too.”

“I want to turn into a… an eagle!” Sam says. “How do I do that?”

“Caw caw, motherfucker,” Clint mutters and Bucky just about covers his laugh with a cough, and shoots Clint a look with suppressed smile crinkling the corners of his eyes that is really a very sexy look. That one must have been one of the ladykiller looks.

“No-one can turn into an eagle yet,” Bucky tells Sam. “They fly, so they have a higher difficulty rating.”

“You can learn the shape change spell at level nine,” Tony says, scrolling through an app on his phone and showing it to Sam. “Then you can be an eagle.”

“No, it’s a 9th-level spell, not one he learns at level nine,” Bruce says, “he can’t learn those until he’s level seventeen at least.”

“This is bullshit!” Sam says, looking around the table in outrage. “I want it on the record that this is bullshit.”

“Session 3,” Steve says, making an elaborate show of writing as he speaks, “Sam… says… this is… bullshit… because… it has… rules…”

“If you’re all going to bicker, I’m going to go to sleep,” Nat says dryly. 

“You’ve turned into a giant spider,” Bucky tries to wrestle everyone’s attention back to the game, “are you going to use a bonus action?”

“Can she eat someone with the bonus action?” 

“Sam, shh!”

“Yeah,” Nat says, “for my bonus action, I’m going to hide.”

“Oh come on!” 

*

“Samdalf, you're up. What do you want to do?”

Sam looks up and down the table, frowning. “Where's everyone else?”

“Nat turned into a giant spider and hid, Vision is in the corner here. Wanda's in the doorway, Clint's hiding behind Bruce because he's squishy and Bruce isn't -”

“Like every other day then.”

“Hey!”

“Thor's with Tony and Rhodey fighting the bugbear here, and you don't know where Steve is because he rolled 25 for stealth.”

“But they’re all behind me? And there are five goblins and the bugbear that Wanda shot over here?” Sam confirms, and Bucky nods. He strokes his beard as he looks at his spell app, and makes a thoughtful noise. “I’m going to cast Burning Hands,” he says, “but at second level, not first. A fifteen foot cone of flames from me, they all have to make a dexterity saving throw, but they still take half damage if they save.”

“What’s your spell save DC?”

“Fourteen.”

Bucky rolls six dice and shakes his head. “They all fail. Roll damage.”

“I need three more d6s,” Sam says, picking up his own die. They’re presented, and he rolls them all onto his notebook. “Five… eleven… seventeen… twenty-one.” He looks up at Bucky. “How did I do?”

Bucky’s shaking his head and chuckling to himself. “You completely annihilate them. The goblins are just greasy burn marks on the far cave wall, and the bugbear sort of sizzles up, and then coughs up some smoke and just… falls over.”

A cheer goes up around the table and Sam sits back in his seat, looking pleased. 

“That’s more like it,” he says. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

*

It takes three circuits up and down the corridor outside Bucky’s room before Clint gets the nerve to knock on the door. And he still thinks seriously about running away when he hears a rustle, and then the soft pad of footsteps across carpet. But before his flight instinct can gain the upper hand, the door opens and Bucky’s there. He’s wearing a tanktop that is far too tight to be anything other than sinful, and some sweats that are riding a little low on his hips. His hair is rumpled, like he was napping before Clint arrives, and Clint wants to send him back to bed and follow right behind.

“Hey,” Clint manages to croak.

“Hey,” Bucky says, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand, and peering out into the corridor. “S’up? We been called up, or...?”

“No, I just.” Clint holds out the large bag in his hand, thrusting it toward Bucky before he can change his mind. “Here. I got this for you.”

Bucky looks bemused, but takes it, and gestures for Clint to follow him into the room. Clint’s never been in Bucky’s room before. It’s mostly pretty bare, and neat, but there’s a bookshelf against one wall. On top of it sits the box with all his Dungeon Master notes, and dice, and that beat-up cardboard screen he made. The shelves are stuffed full of the tomes Bucky brings to each session, as well as others with some exciting titles - _Ghosts of Saltmarsh_ , _Tales from the Yawning Portal_ , _Fury of Dragons_. Bucky follows his gaze.

“They’re some other campaign books,” he explains, setting the bag on the table.

“Which one are we doin’ next?” Clint asks, and Bucky looks a bit surprised, but then shrugs a shoulder.

“I wasn’t sure if you guys would be interested in carrying on after this,” he says, avoiding eye contact. “I know Steve bullied you into this, and it’s been fun. I can always try and find another group if I want to keep goin’...”

He trails off as he pulls his present out of the bag and looks stunned. Clint rubs the back of his head awkwardly. 

“I hope it’s alright,” he says. “Just, your card one was startin’ to look a bit… bent.”

One of the guys in Clint’s Bed Stuy building was a carpenter, and when Clint had approached him about maybe building a screen, it turned out he knew exactly what Clint was talking about. He told Clint all about how he used to play as a kid, and now his son was into it. He wanted to know all about Clint’s character, the campaign they were running, and he gave him some tips. 

The screen was nice, wood stained dark and fixed with hinges so it could fold down into something easier to pack away. Dan had even taken his wood burning kit out and stencilled a dragon on the central panel. 

Bucky’s running his fingers over it like it’s something fragile and precious. Clint’s seen those hands field-strip rifles, flip knives like they’re an extra limb, and punch and rip and crush things eight ways from Sunday. He’s never seen them glide over anything this gently, and it’s a bit like Clint is feeling them directly on his own skin. He’s getting goosebumps up his arms and his palms are tingling. 

“You didn’t have to-” 

“No, but I wanted to.” Clint clears his throat, and suddenly the room is feeling a little stuffy. “D’you, maybe, wanna go… grab a beer or something?”

There’s a surprised and speculative element to the smile Bucky gives Clint, and Clint doesn’t miss the way his eyes flick up and down, before Bucky’s tongue darts out to wet his lips slightly.

“Sure,” Bucky says, “give me a minute to change?”

Clint nods and slips back out into the hallway. As he leans against the wall to wait for Bucky, he finds himself smiling, just a little. 

Dan told him some stuff about bards too. Maybe, if the signals he’s getting from Bucky are right, he could have some fun with this. 

*

“I seduce the innkeeper.”

“Clint, you don’t need to seduce the innkeeper, he’s willing to just take your money. He’s agreed to let you stay.”

Clint makes eye contact with Bucky and doesn’t waver.

“I. Seduce. The innkeeper.”

Another sigh, and an awkward swallow.

“Roll charisma.”

“18… plus 5… 23.”

“You seduce the fuck out of that innkeeper,” Bucky says quickly, starting to turn the pages and move to the next scene.

“No, wait, don’t we need to play this out? Don’t you want to know how I do it?”

Bucky swallows again. He _really_ wants to know how Clint - how Hardrock The Bard seduces the innkeeper, but he doesn’t want to hear about it in the company of _literally everyone he knows_.

“We know how you do it,” Nat says, taking a long pull of beer. “You rock up with two large pizzas and a six pack of beer, and then look sad until they take pity on you and you fuck.”

Clint looks slightly wounded, but only slightly.

“That’s only worked… three times,” he protests. 

“Four.”

“Okay, four.”

“Does he… get anything for seducing the innkeeper?” Sam asks.

“Laid?” Tony suggests.

“Free room for the night,” Bucky says, “and breakfast in the morning.”

“What a gent.” Clint looks pleased. “I give him a five star review on D&D Yelp.”

“The innkeeper’s wife is less happy,” Bucky adds, “and Hardrock is banned from this inn for life.”

*

No-one comments when they turn up for the session one day and the centre of the dining table flips over to reveal a giant digital map of the terrain they’re in, with little holograms of their characters strolling across the board. Wanda lets out a little squeak of delight when she realises there’s a one for her ranger’s wolf trotting along beside her. 

“You’re welcome,” Tony says, eventually, after garnering no other reaction.

“I thought you didn’t want to play,” Steve drawls.

“If I’m playing, I’m playing it properly,” Tony sniffs. He passes a tablet to Bucky. “I’ll give you a tutorial on this later, but let me know if there’s anything you can’t get your head round now.”

“Isn’t this the battle sim tech you set up in the Pentagon?” Rhodey asks, suddenly suspicious.

“Yes it is,” Tony says.

“So it’ll show all the battles as they happen?” Vision leans across, studying the display with curiosity.

“Hey,” Clint asks, “does that mean it’ll show-?”

“No,” Tony says. “No it won’t. It’s military tech, not _porn_.”

“Military tech you’ve co-opted for a game,” Rhodey points out.

“I invented it, I can do what I like.”

“Guess you guys’ll have to keep using your imagination then,” he drawls, and he winks at Bucky while taking a long pull on his beer. Bucky watches his jaw and the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and then he has to reach for his own beer because his mouth is very dry. 

Wanda’s discovered she can pet her wolf if she taps her finger on the screen, and it rolls over for belly rubs. Rhodey shoots Tony a Look.

“I invented it,” Tony repeats, “I can do what I like.”

*

“Tony, you’re next. What’s The Mighty Tron gonna do?”

“How tall is this ogre?”

“Just under ten feet tall.”

“And I’m three feet tall…” Tony muses. “Okay. I am going to run from my hiding place and between the ogre’s legs, and I’m going to stab up with my longsword. And then as a bonus action I’m casting Searing Smite at second level.”

“How does that work?”

“It’s gotta make a Constitution save, and it takes 2d6 fire damage now, and then 1d6 at the start of every turn until it makes a successful save.”

“Burning butt,” Sam says, and Steve winces. 

“You can get a cream for that,” Nat offers dryly.

Tony rolls an 18, which hits, and takes 8 slashing damage. The ogre fails its constitution save and takes another 9 fire damage. It’s not happy, and the little avatar of it on the screen flails around a bit.

“You said this wasn’t porn,” Sam says slowly, “but we’ve just had to watch you anally violate an ogre.”

“You do realise,” Vision says, “that you’re now standing right beneath its feet?”

“I do, yes,” Tony says. 

“And if I’m correct, it’s now the ogre’s turn?”

Bucky is juggling his d20 from hand to hand and grinning wickedly.

“Shit,” says Tony.

*

At first, it doesn’t seem like much changes between Bucky and the others. But about six months later, six sessions later, Bucky realises that everything’s changed without him realising. He’s hiding in his room less, he feels less on his guard in the tower. They seem less nervous around him too. There’s a tension missing from their stances, an openness to their faces. They’ve stopped worrying about getting into his space. They reach over him now to get to pizza, or coffee, or the TV remote. 

Clint’s particularly keen on getting into his space, and he’s getting used to finding calloused hands on his biceps as Clint pretends to need him to balance as he stretches up for cupboards to get a cup, or over for drawers to get a spoon. 

They’ve been going out for beers a lot more too. Sometimes with the others, sometimes just with Clint. And working out - a lot of working out. A lot of touching. 

So Bucky’s not entirely surprised when Clint turns up at his door with two large pizzas, a six pack of beer, and a hopeful grin. It’s a good grin, and those pizzas smell amazing, but Bucky’s not sure he’s quite ready for that. Not yet. It’s been a while since he’s been able to enjoy flirting anyway, so he kind of wants to drag this out a little longer. 

He fishes the d20 out of his DM box, and hands it to Clint.

“Roll charisma,” he says. Clint looks a little surprised, but takes the die gamely and rolls it on the top of the pizza box.

“12,” Clint says.

“Not high enough this time,” Bucky says, and lifts the top pizza out of Clint’s hands, die and all. “Guess you’ll have to upskill before you try again.”

He knocks the door closed, but he manages to see Clint’s expression change from stunned to amused as it swings shut. 

*

“I’m sorry, Steve, this guy rolled high and got super lucky. His shot manages to find you even though you’re invisible. 23 to hit.”

“Dammit that hits,” Steve grumbles, scribbling out his HP and preparing to knock off some points.

“Seven piercing damage.”

“Seven! Shit.” Steve leans back in his chair and tosses his pencil on the table. “That’s me unconscious.”

“I bet you wish you had better armour instead of that big hat,” Tony says.

“Never.”

“You’ll have to roll a death save on your next turn,” Bucky says. “Unless someone heals you.”

“Well it’s me next,” Bruce says, “can I heal him?”

“Theoretically, yes.”

“Theoretically?”

“You can’t see him,” Bucky points out. “Bertrand got 22 for stealthing into here with you so you wouldn’t get caught, _and_ Samdalf is outside casting Invisibility on him. You don't know he’s even been hit.”

“I could stop the spell?” Sam suggests.

“Not until your turn,” Bucky reminds him. “But you’re still outside, as far as you know it’s going great in there. If you stop the spell, he might get caught.”

“Could I wave out the window to tell Sam to stop?” Wanda asks. “Maybe fire an arrow down as a signal?”

“We’d just think we were under attack,” Rhodey says. “It wouldn’t make sense.”

“I think we must continue the assault,” Vision says, “and then heal Bertrand once this is over.”

“Don’t mind me guys,” Steve drawls. “I’ll just lie here in this corner. Bleeding out. Whenever you’re ready.”

“If you’re dying, do it more quietly,” Nat chides him. “We’ve got a battle to win.”

*

The next time, Clint rolls a 2, and Bucky takes both pizzas.

*

Nat was the only one who knew Clint can sing, so when Hardrock is challenged to a singing contest to save all their lives, and Bucky says he’ll give him an advantage to the performance check if he actually sings, she sits back in her chair and looks quietly smug.

His voice is rich and husky, and he knows all the words to ‘Hot Summer Night’ by Meatloaf, including the opening bit which he does both parts of, affecting a falsetto for the woman’s vocals. It’s a weird song, but there’s something strangely affecting about it, and he keeps meeting Bucky’s eyes in a challenge. 

Once he’s finished, Wanda applauds, and Clint rolls two d20s. 

“23,” he says to Bucky. “16, plus 5 performance, plus 2 proficiency bonus.”

“The whole court is delighted,” Bucky says, and then has to clear his throat and take a drink of beer because it’s all gone a bit tight up there. “King Wilhelm sets you all free, but offers Hardrock a job as his personal bard.”

“I thank him mightily,” Clint says, “but regretfully decline.”

*

It’s two hours after the session finishes when Clint shows up at Bucky’s door again. He’s empty-handed, but he rolls a 20.

“Oh thank fuck,” says Bucky, and pulls him into the room with a hand fisted in his shirt, dragging his mouth down to meet him. There’s stubble on his jaw that rasps against his skin, and he tastes like beer, and pizza, and Doritos.

Clint just about manages to kick the door shut behind him, before his hands are gripping at Bucky’s biceps, hips, trying to drag his shirt over his head without breaking their lips apart.

It feels amazing. Better than anything Bucky has felt in a long time, and it’s addictive. He never ever wants to stop doing any of this, and he never wants to let Clint leave his room again.

*

It’s past lunchtime before they emerge the next day, and they run into Nat in the hallway. She looks them up and down and smirks. When she comes into dinner later that evening, Steve and Sam both hand her a bundle of bills with slightly disgruntled expressions.

*

The therapist's office has been designed to look non-threatening. The room has been painted Magnolia, with non-descript art on the walls that has clearly been made to order for soothing shapes and calming colours. All blues and roundness. The desk has rounded corners, and it’s brightly lit and airy.

Bucky’s slouched in the chair feeling pretty mellow as Doc Adams settles himself across from him and opens his notebook. He studies Bucky for a moment, fingers laced together on the pages.

“So,” he says, “how are you feeling today, Bucky?”

There’s a bruise just on Bucky’s collarbone which Clint left him last night, nipping and sucking until the skin went dark. It’s throbbing just a little, and he can feel it when his shirt moves across it. 

His phone is buzzing in his pocket, the group text set up for planning the games has devolved into just a giant group chat, where everyone talks about everything, and they had to set up a separate group text for the games and ban Clint from sending memes.

His room was a bit of a mess when he left this morning. He needs to put away the stack of dog-eared fantasy novels he has sitting on his bedside table. He needs to reorganise his game stuff, and pick up his clothes. He needs to wash his sheets, but he likes that they’re starting to smell a bit like Clint now. 

“I’m doing pretty great, actually,” he says. 

**Author's Note:**

> So for like another 35 minutes, it's mariana_oconnor's birthday. And usually I would throw her some kind of low key party, but all I could do this year was stand at the end of her driveway and shout at her because social distancing is important. Our fandoms haven't overlapped for about sixteen years, but I wanted to try and do something for her birthday this year because she's my oldest friend and lockdown is a bummer. She is also the person who introduced me to D&D and who DMs one of the games I'm in. She's a brilliant DM, and a lot of Bucky in here is based on her a little. 
> 
> Most of the encounters in here happened to our party in our first campaign. We are still not great at it, and mariana_oconnor puts up with A Lot. Ask her about trying to DM through the Sangria Incident. 
> 
> Thank you to Kangofu_cb for answering all my questions, and trying to keep me in-character around her very busy schedule. Any errors are ENTIRELY mine, HOW DO YOU GUYS MANAGE WITH SO MANY CHARACTERS. THERE ARE SO MANY PEOPLE.
> 
> Anyway yes. Happy Birthday to mariana_oconnor. And I'm sorry in advance for anywhere it went wrong. This was hastily written over three days and is almost certainly full of mistakes. We don't plan ahead properly and die like men.


End file.
